


Incarceration

by MarxistMouse



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Unity, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Romance, F/M, Just what did Bellec do before Unity?, Pre-Unity, The Bastille, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 00:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarxistMouse/pseuds/MarxistMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pierre Bellec, the irascible, sarcastic master assassin comes up with an idea to get into every single prison in France. With some help from his apprentices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incarceration

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered what Bellec did before Unity and I wanted more of him in the game. Loved the idea of him getting himself arrested and chucked in nearly every prison in France. 
> 
> I decided to throw Charlotte Gouze and Charles Dorian into the mix and somehow a partnership emerged between Charlotte and Bellec.

The cafe theatre, 1769  
The cafe had seen better days. The legitimate facade of the incipient French brotherhood provided a place for assassins to congregate without fear. Tonight Pierre Bellec was one of them. Lit by a single guttering candle, the dark haired man perched on the edge of a chair, bent over a spread of yellowing papers. Scratching away with a pencil stub, his eyes darted over the collection of notes. Completely absorbed by his task, he barely noticed the opening of the door save for the light gust of wind that agitated the papers on the scarred table and caused the candle to flicker feebly. 

"You look busy". The shadow of his young apprentice Charlotte fell over his works as she skidded to a halt near his left shoulder. 

"I was, wench". Bellec scowled, throwing his pencil down before looking up at the petite brunette. "Still, good a place as any to stop". He kicked out a chair and motioned for her to sit down opposite him. Used to ill humour and sarcasm from her mentor, Charlotte sat down, throwing the man a bright smile. She was dressed for the field, in breeches and a long coat and there was an oblique cut skittering through her hairline. A parting gift from her last target. 

"I'll get you something to drink. Looks like you need it". Bellec eyed the scratch with something that was akin to concern. He pushed himself up from the table with his arms, causing the chair to scrape against the floor. After hours of being sat in the same position, his legs and lower back ached and protested at the sudden unwanted movement.

Charlotte followed his approach to the bar under lowered lashes, making sure his back was turned, before she started scanning the papers quickly. Maps of France with prisons and fortresses picked out: Brest, the Bagne of Toulon, Fontevraud Abbey, the Fortress of Miolans. All the way to the lonely, rocky isle of the Château d'If off the Southern coast. Her gloved fingertips traced over detailed floorplans and draughtsmans layouts for the Bastille and the Conciergerie in the Île de la Cité. Charlotte wasn't a fearful woman, the nature of her work had made her impervious to most things yet these locations made her shudder and set a cold chill down her back. They were bywords for pain and cruelty.

What on Earth her mentor was doing with these plans, she had no idea. Was it to be their next mission? Charlotte stared off into the middle distance rapidly trying to make sense of the parchments.

"Is this to be our next mission?" She quizzed Bellec on his return, gesturing to the pile. "Infiltrating the Bastille?" Much as she was apprehensive of the fortress prison, she was intrigued by the complexity of the mission and excited by its possibilities.

He smiled ruefully at her keeness, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of her with one hand and clearing some of the papers away with the other.

"No. Not ours. Just me". His heart twisted slightly at the look on her face and her tightening grip on the chipped cup. She had been a good apprentice to him, diligent and able. Of course he'd miss her company and skills. That was all he was prepared to admit to himself.

"What? You're going into the Bastille, by yourself?"

"Not just that wench. I'm getting myself arrested and thrown into all these wonderful, reformatory establishments in turn". Pierre Bellec laughed loudly at the incredulous look on Charlotte's face. 

"What on Earth for?" Charlotte's hand was frozen midway to her mouth.

"Well, I've heard that the quality of gruel in Fontevraud is excellent. And you get your own bucket!" A sardonic smile twisted his lips. 

"This is madness!" She slammed the cup down without taking a sip.

"Madness is only a step away from genius". Pierre picked up a parchment at random and scanned it quickly in an attempt to avoid Charlotte's aghast expression.

"Or in your case. Prison. These places are a testament to human misery and suffering. And if I had my way I'd raze them to the ground". Charlotte spat furiously, her face contorting with anger. "And here you are. Trying to get into the worst of them. Voluntarily".

Bellec leant back in his chair and huffed an exasperated sigh. "It's for the order". He should have been more angry at the impudence from the usually self contained Charlotte. Indeed he would have been had the outburst come from one of his other pupils but he couldn't bring himself to rebuke the young woman. 

"Of course. Please excuse me, I need something stronger than this". Charlotte swallowed down a lump that had lodged itself uncomfortably in her throat before leaving the table abruptly. 

**Author's Note:**

> The "I have my own bucket line" is courtesy of Nathan Drake. It was so awesome and I couldn't resist using it.
> 
> And I tried to think of a female equivalent of pisspot. Wench seemed like something Bellec would come out with.


End file.
